When Facebook Makes You Hate People

Recently I was forced onto Facebook under my own name by my company, which wants its employees to have social media profiles. For about three years or so, I’d been on FB under a fake name, mostly just to stay in touch with my far-flung girlfriends who are generally like-minded about most things.

But now, I’ve been forced to accept as friends people who are mere professional colleagues, for the most part. And I am starting to hate many of them.

Who knew that polite federal employee who has always been helpful to me was a Glenn Beck fan who frequently posts links to that jackass’s show on his wall? He’s now been hidden from my newsfeed, but even so, sometimes I can’t help but go and look, and the comments of support on his wall from right-wing lunatics who believe the Tea Party people are the way of the future have honestly caused my blood to boil. The things these people believe are frightening, erroneous and fucked up. I must refrain, however, from taking them on because I am now representing my company.

The status updates from the lovelorn are almost equally horrifying. I dearly want to write “Honey, have some pride, you are embarrassing yourself” but, again, I am now an ambassador for my company and cannot publicly call someone out for being a pathetic tool.

The childhood friend, now insane, who made reference to a past illegality on my wall didn’t get off so easy. I sent her a pointed message reminding her that many of my bosses and professional contacts are on my Friends list, so can she please buy a clue.

Then there’s the work colleague who I long suspected was an asshole and now I know for sure. He’s been posting for days about his hay fever struggles here in D.C., the Flowering Tree Capital of the World. I left a message expressing sympathy, since I used to suffer horribly back in Canada, but miraculously I have not been affected one bit by all the exotic pollens since I moved here almost two years ago. His numerous retorts were along these lines: “Just you wait!!! It takes two years to kick in!!! You’ll be begging for mercy!!! Just you wait!!!! It’s going to happen to you and it will be hell!! Mark my words!! You’re a fool if you think it won’t happen to you!!!” What the fuck? How about: “Lucky you, I wish it wasn’t affecting me this way.”

There are also the many, many creepazoids from high school who have found me and are requesting my friendship. When I ignore them, I get nasty messages asking me why? Why, Jeffrey from Grade 10 German class? Because you were a dickhead when you were 15, and clearly you’re still a dickhead now.

I kind of hate Facebook. Thankfully, however, I can at least hide all the annoying people from showing up in my newsfeed. Now if only I could figure out a way to stop my painkiller-addicted friend from posting weird and damning shit on my wall at 4 a.m. short of unfriending her completely and causing World War Three.

Fuckin’ A. I just de-friended my employer’s crazy wife because she has absolutely no filter, is a raving ultra-conservative cuh-RAZY, and never got the memo re: not discussing religion or politics at any but the most intimate social gathering. (She brought politics up at my SIL’s funeral. Klasseh! Some people need a good arm’s length or three.)

“There are also the many, many creepazoids from high school who have found me and are requesting my friendship.”

Change that to college. I hid from 1 chick for 4 years. I would receive Xmas cards and write wrong address on them with my left hand and return them in the mail. She googled me and found my work information and sent me an email requesting that I FB friend her. I reluctantly did, and I think that she is pissed that I have yet to send her a message reminiscing about the past.

My crotchety self also hates the fact that you can tell when people are online.

You can just do what I do with FB and never sign on. I exist on it, so if long-lost friends want to look me up and send a note (that’s nice!) they can find me and vice versa. I get emails in my inbox alerting me to social gatherings, which I can respond to. Otherwise, I just steer clear.

No muss, no fuss, and I don’t have to find out that people I was friendly with in HS are mouth-foaming right-wingers. That cute Victor from tenth grade who used to wear a cowboy hat and had the sweetest smile can remain comfortably enshrined as such in my memory.